


A path lined with thistles

by Cazaan (sailor_muffin)



Category: Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: AU, Cannibalism, Dubious Consent, Fae & Fairies, Multi, Oberon is trying (tm), Size Difference, fairies are creepy, fairy magic is weird, gratuitous bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailor_muffin/pseuds/Cazaan
Summary: Oberon finds a Puck hiding in his palace.aka the one where no one knows what they are doing





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I changed pretty much everything about the source material, from the setting, to the lore, to the language.  
> This is also unbetaed and I am not a native speaker.  
> Beware all ye...

It has been weeks of the trickster spirit tormenting his lower staff. Nothing too serious, never so urgent or severe that measures had to be taken immediately. In fact, if it hadn't been for the looming visit of Queen Titania in the near future, Oberon might have not done anything about the troublemaker who has found a home in his court. After all, he saw himself as someone who could appreciate a good joke. 

And, as far as he knew, that was all the spirit has done until now. Little jokes. Turning all the flowers in the lower gardens a deep black. Putting knots in the long hairs of the servant fairies. Making stools break when they were sat on. Turning milk sour and wine into water.  
Telling vulgar little lies in the disguises of different fairies, tainting their reputations and creating petty rivalries. Just enough to have those with too much time and too much energy to spent on nastiness kept busy. Which was all the same to the King.

But Titania was visiting and that meant a close scrutiny of his court and of all those among them. A wayward trickster causing trouble would mean mockery from his Queen, a sign of him being unfit to keep order in his own palace. 

So, something needed to be done. The perpetrator needed to be caught and held responsible.  
And catching it had been remarkably easy.  
This was, after all, the King's palace. The very place where Oberon's powers were at their peak. No fairy could hide from him here. It showed a carelessness, or maybe just ignorance, believing they could get away with it.

The King had sat in his chambers, slowly and thoroughly reaching out with his powers, room by room, and felt for anything foreign, anyone uninvited and there... there it was. Flitting from shadow to shadow, too fast and fleeting to be seen by anyone who wasn't as powerful as Oberon. He took a moment to admire its speed and stealth, bidding his time until it has darted in one of the smaller storage rooms that normally held spare cushions and chairs, now empty because of the nearing festivities. There, it held still for the first time, probably catching its breath. And the King attacked.

The vines growing all over the walls of the palace snatched out, grabbing at the intruder. One snaking around a slender ankle, another wrapping around a thin waist, another finding a delicate wrist and holding tight. 

Oberon grinned triumphantly, feeling the useless struggles against the vines, the sudden desperation of a prey trapped as it was dragged backwards and finally pinned against the wall, with more and more vines crawling over it, leaving it well and truly caught. There was a short, surprisingly strong bust of magic against the bindings and if it was any other place than the sanctum of the king his prey might have managed to break free. As it was, the vines were infused with enough magic force to not only hold the body but also the powers of the troublemaker. No escape. 

Whistling happily, the King made his way through the castle. Time for a little fun.

 

 

It was still wiggling in its binds when the king entered but stopped immediately, blinking with shock at the arrival of Oberon. 

It opened its mouth and immediately started babbling:  
“My King, my King, I apologize. I did no harm. And even if I may have done harm, it was not done with the goal of harming in mind or with a wish, an intention of inflicting it. It was fun, just fun, but I, alas, see the error of my ways now. So, if my King would show mercy and let me go, I would leave never to be seen or heard from again. I would disappear so completely, no one would even remember I ever existed, living a quiet and solitude life at the ends of this world, forever regretting and pondering on my bad deeds-”

It did have a rather pleasant voice. Still, listening to this nonsense was starting to get tiring. While it kept going on and on one of the vines sneaked around its head and, as soon as there was an opening, quickly slipped between its lips, just to immediately grow a large cluster of thick, green leaves, filling out and efficiently gagging its mouth. It whimpered, shaking its head uselessly. The vines around its body tightened slightly in warning and the little fairy stopped and stared pleadingly at the king.

“That's better.”  
Oberon nodded to himself and walked closer, truly looking at his captive for the first time. It was a skinny little thing, just as he had already felt thorough the vines, its head not even reaching his shoulder. With big yellow eyes and a pointed face, curls in a light brown tumbling to its shoulders and two small, delicately curved horns growing from its forehead. Its skin was almost translucent in its paleness, and the creature seemed to almost flicker and fade at the edges, as if it was made of evening mist. 

It was a Puck, which was rather unusual. The King couldn't quite remember ever seeing one with his own eyes. There had been more of them, once, but they had started to slowly disappear. Those things happen. Some creatures take the changing of the world around them more harshly than others. 

“So, you know who I am.”

It nodded sadly.

“And you think I should just let you go.”

It nodded again, more eagerly this time. Oberon smiled, charmed besides himself. Bold creature, that one.

“I don't think so, little Puck. I think punishment is in order. I am the King after all, and letting spirits run rampant through my court is not something I will ever tolerate. So, what to do with you?”

He leaned closer, letting his breath brush against a delicately pointed ear, feeling the Puck shiver slightly.

“Do you know what the dungeons are like? You will be cast in iron chains that will burn the skin of your ankles and wrists and cripple your magics. You will be locked so very deep underground, no breeze, no bird song, no star shine. Fairies go mad down there. They claw out their own eyes, scratch up their skin and tear out their hair. They become rabid beasts, forever lost in their suffering. Never to be seen again.”

The King leaned back, smirking.  
Pure horror has formed on its face, there were tears swimming in its large eyes. A smell started to come from it, sharp and fresh like limes. The little thing was terrified. Good.

“I will think about it. Now, there are preparations to make for the visit of my Queen and I don't have time to take care of ridiculous little pixies like you.”

With that, he turned around and left the room, making sure to seal the door after him, just to stop intruders in case anyone found out about the captured trickster and decided to extract a little revenge.

Maybe he had been a bit harsh, he pondered later, overlooking a busy cluster of workers putting together a beautiful display of glittering wind chimes. Well, it couldn't be helped now. After the festivities were over, he would see to his Puck. 

Right now, he felt his way along the vines that trapped the thing until he found the one growing into its mouth and filled the leaves with fresh, green juice, ready to be released when bitten on and immediately after, the leaves would heal themselves and fill themselves anew. 

And oh, the King smiled, it already bit. It had probably felt the leaves slightly expanding and did it out of reflex. Satisfied, he pulled back. While not filling like a good meal, this should keep the little thing nurtured through the meantime.

 

 

Three busy nights later, at sunset, Titania arrived and upon seeing her Oberon realized just how fiercely he has missed her this time around.  
He truly did admire his Queen, the only creature to match him in power. Her appearance was a mirror of his own, dark-skinned, strongly built and tall, with long, midnight-black hair and piercing green eyes. She had the beauty of a warrior, she was harsh and cunning and very dangerous.

But this was a good arrangement, and a necessary one. As much as they loved each other, spending prolonged time together tended to end in disaster. They would fight, and when the Fairy King and the Fairy Queen fought, the land suffered. Draughts and blights would ravish the areas, stillborn would be delivered and a dark mood would fall over every creature in their reach of power.  
And so, it has been decided that Queen Titania would see her King twice a year for the solstice, strengthening their bonds and blessing the earth and leave after three nights of celebration, before the mood had a chance to turn sour.  
Oberon couldn't imagine being away from home for such long periods of time but she loved her travels, brought him gifts and knowledge from far away, told him of the strangest wonders she had witnessed. 

It was already the break of dawn on the second night of the celebrations when, her complexion flushed from wine and laughter, she took him aside, her gaze glowing with mischief. 

“I have heard there had been problems before my arrival. A trickster that slipped into the castle to terrorize your staff.”

Oberon would have sighed to himself at the lack of subtlety, but the celebration and the reunion with Titania had put him in a rather good mood and, he had to admit, he had been looking forward to this.

“Problems that have been solved rather quickly. Would my Queen like to see what it was that gave my poor servants so much grieve?”

And so, they rushed down the halls, stumbling slightly along now and then, giggling amongst them like they were newlyweds, drawing the eyes of many confused (and concerned) fairies on their way. Oberon broke the seal with a wave of his hand and opened the door for Titania with a flourish bow.

“Oh, look at this!”  
Titania's eyes gleamed with delight.  
“It is really what it looks like? A Puck? And you found it just hiding in your palace?”

The poor little thing looked rather overwhelmed in the first, pink light of dawn, exhausted from its binds and the long capture, blinking fuzzily. It smelled of a soft autumn breeze, of fallen, dying leaves. 

“Oh yes. And it was rather chatty, too.”  
Oberon grinned, watching with pleasure as the Puck looked like it tried desperately to sink into the wall behind it and away from the presence of the royal couple. There were faint traces of dried leaf juice on its lips and chin, showing it made good use of the gift the King gave him. 

“And what is it my King plans to do with it?”  
Titania had yet to look away from the captured creature. Oberon knew she had a fierce fondness for everything rare and strange.

“I was thinking of banishing it to the dungeons.”

She laughed, loud and clear.  
“No, you weren't.”

He laughed too. She knew him just too well.  
“No, I wasn't.”  
he admitted.

A barely audible sigh of relief escaped the Puck that left it sagging in its binds.  
Titania send him a shrewd look before reaching out and gently putting her hand against its cheek.  
It held itself very still, eyes wide.  
“You should give it to me.”

The King had expected the request, still, it angered him all the same. They were both greedy by nature, one of many problems their relationship faced, but the bluntness in which she stated her wish and the casual touch already fired resentment in him.  
He turned towards his Queen in rage, slapping her hand away from his capture.  
“I was the one who found it! What makes you think you can just take it away from me?”

She laughed again, not fazed in the slightest, holding up her hands in mocking surrender.  
“My King, don't you worry. I am not stealing this one. I was going to give it back to you. You know I have talents and ways that you don't and in my travels, I have tamed many creatures. Human, fairy, animal, monster and those that defy any definition. I would take it with me, and when the next solstice is upon us, it will be returned to you.”

She leaned closer to him, her voice turning into a soft, seductive timbre.  
“It will crawl for you. Curl up at your feet to sleep. Eat food out of your hand and lick your fingers clean afterwards. Eager to please its King, however it is required. I know of ways to make sure it will never attempt to run or hide, never talk back, never hesitate, no matter what you order it to do.”

The fresh lime smell was back and Oberon found himself breathing in deeply the pure terror of the captured fae.  
Everything about it was just so... appealing. And so was the picture Titania was painting. He could see it so well, his little Puck with its head bowed, leaning against him as he sat upon his throne, letting him scratch its curls gently and run his fingers over its little horns, all quiet and sweet and obedient. But...

“Is my Queen talking about taming or breaking?”

Titania sighed, leaning back again, knowing she had lost.  
“A trickster spirit cannot be truly tamed. Better to break it and work with what is left. Otherwise, it will always search for loopholes, never truly surrender. It is not in their nature.”

The Queen shrugged and with a last, disappointed look towards the Puck left the room.  
Oberon glowered after her. Then, he put his gaze upon the terrified fairy still with him, willing himself to calm down and soften his look. It would not be fair of him to fault it for souring the visit of his Queen. It was bound to happen sooner or later. 

So, he made sure to put his hand gently to the cheek Titania had touched just moments earlier, feeling the little thing flinch, as if expecting to be struck.

“I will not give you to her.”  
he murmured carefully. 

It closed its eyes, relief flooding its features again. Leaning closer, Oberon noticed its relief also had a smell to it, a soft, lavender kind, chasing away the lime but still underlined with the autumn smell of exhaustion. Suddenly he wished Titania was already gone and he could focus on his little captive properly. But there was still a night of the festival left. So, he did the next best thing.

“You are so very tired, are you not?”  
A hesitant nod. The King called upon his magic and reached out to the vine in its mouth, carefully adding to the juices of the leaves.

“Bite.” he ordered softly.

For a moment it just blinked at him, before slowly biting down and swallowing.

“There you go, sweet thing.”

He stayed with it, slowly petting its cheek while its eyes started drooping and falling shut. This should keep it asleep until then.

 

 

The last night passed in a blur and, after a day of rest, the Queen and her court left the palace. She had kissed his cheek on departure, a knowing, mocking look the last thing she sent him before leading her party to the north. The halls were eerily silent and empty without them. It was always a strange loss of balance, having the Queen leave them.  
But this time, Oberon didn't care to mourn the loss. There were more important matters to attend.

The Puck was still sleeping when he came to the chamber and he rose it carefully, calling to it and patting its face softly. He smiled at blinking eyes and a sleepy expression.  
“Good evening, little one. Finally, I have the time to see to you properly.”

The leaves in its mouth dried up rapidly, shriveling into non-existence in a moment, the vine retreating, leaving its mouth free for the first time in six nights. It coughed, shook its head, blinked again.

“...sorry...”  
it croaked.

Oberon nodded.  
“I know, I know. I will let you out of those vines. Just give me your name and I will free you.”

It let out a rather endearing squeak at that, writhing and wiggling and looking everywhere but at him.  
“But I am no one. Just a Puck, a very useless one at that. Just a Puck, no one, really. My King doesn't need...”

“You will tell me your name!”  
Oberon interrupted harshly.  
“Else I will leave you here, bound and forgotten, to rot.”

There was, of course, a reason the fairy was so reluctant to give out its name. A name in the hands of the Fairy King was power. Giving over a name meant that there would be no place to hide. No matter how far it would run, anywhere in this world, the King would be able to find it, dragging it out from any hole it would dig itself in and bring it back. It could never escape. Not really.

It knew that, judging from the pure misery on its face. Still, if Oberon couldn't get it to give out its name, freeing it would be impossible. He needed leverage. He needed trust.

“My Queen said it would be futile to try to tame you. But I don't believe that. After all, you walked into my castle knowing you could not escape for long. And you still came here. You wanted me to find you, didn't you? Do not lie to me.”

“...nononono...”  
it whimpered softly, shaking its head.

“I am going to tame you. And for that, I need your name. Now. I am not a patient master.”

It was still shaking its head, eyes closed tight, as if no one could see it if it couldn't see. But it still whispered:  
“Robin Goodfellow.”

Taken aback, Oberon blinked. That has been... easy. Suspiciously easy.  
Robin Goodfellow. Infusing the name with his magic, he reached out to the creature in front of him and, yes, it was resonating with its core. The brightly glowing, softly vibrating center of its magic that had been closed off to him before, was now lying bare and vulnerable. 

“Well done.”  
he praised. Maybe this would be not as difficult as he had thought. If it was a trick, he certainly didn't grasp the angle yet. 

Ordering the vines to let their prey go, the Puck, Robin, was slowly released, crumpling to the floor, a shaking, sad little thing. It was breathing too fast, air escaping in small, whining gasps, its eyes still closed, trembling, trembling...

Just as the vines had before, tendrils reached out again, this time invisible, made purely out of the magic of the King, wrapping itself not around the body, but the very core of the being that was named Robin Goodfellow, binding its magic in a way that was too intimate, too complete to struggle against. And, holding this delicate, vibrant essence in his grasp Oberon gave one, unshakable command to it:  
“Settle down.”

The effect was sudden and brutal. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the little Robin became limp and completely still on the floor. Its breath was calm and even. Its smell, that had been a mixture of lime, autumn leaves and peppers, changed as drastically, evaporating into nothing at all.

Oberon looked down in shock. That was not right. Had he broken it by accident? But he hadn't done anything too brutal to it, had he? Was it because it was a Puck? Was there a sort of weakness to it he hadn't known about? Carefully, he tipped it over with his boot to look at its face.

Those fascinating bird of prey eyes looked up at him, confused but clear. It still seemed to be of mind. So, what had happened? Was the binding such a shock to it? That must be it. A bound fairy was not much more than human, cut off from the flow of magics around them, dulled and helpless. That, paired with the command Oberon had given to its core, a place that most likely had never been touched by anyone before, a place where it probably didn't know it could be touched, had just been too much. It must have been simply overwhelmed. 

The King crouched down, mindful to keep eye contact to it, to make sure it was listening:  
“This is just temporary. I will release your essence. But right now you are filthy and hungry and sore from your bindings and you need care. It is easier that way, so you won't struggle or try to run. Not only would it be very useless and harmful for you, I would also have to punish you and it is too early into your taming for that. It would destroy more than do good. So be brave and bear it and I will free you as soon as possible.”

It blinked and nodded. It didn't seem scared or too uncomfortable for that matter, just confused still. A fragrance started to form again, sweet like honeysuckle.  
Oberon smiled. It obviously hadn't known what had happened, innocent little fairy. He couldn't help adding teasingly:  
“You are allowed to talk. And move.”

“...yes. I...”  
It shook its head, locks flying, while sitting up. Honeysuckle was mixing with lavender.  
The way it couldn't seem to help carrying its emotions outwards in those enticing, complex scents was quickly becoming one of the Kings favorite things about it. 

Oberon stood up and called out to the two guards, who had been waiting outside the door. As soon as they came in, he started to give orders:  
“I want this one taken to the baths and cleaned. Get it some new clothes, too.”

He was already halfway out the door when his ankle was grabbed so suddenly that he almost fell to the floor.  
“NO!”

Any sign of timidness was gone from the Puck, both hands tightly latched around his foot, a fierce expression on its face. The fragrance darkened to sandalwood and wet, fertile earth.  
What in all the worlds...? He shared a short, confused look with his guards, truly at loss.

“Stay with me!”  
Not a plea. A demand.

“No one will harm you.”  
he tried, but it seemed wrong, because Robin was not scared.

“I know.”

Rival emotions clashed inside Oberon. There was outrage at the sheer effrontery of the little sprite, barking out orders as if it was King and he was its servant.  
But there was also a swell of unexpected pride at the desperation for the company of its King, at how strong the desire for it was that it had so completely forgotten itself. As if already tamed and knowing how very safe and loved it would be with its King. As if it already knew where it belonged.  
Pushing it away meant it would learn its place. But it might also make it feel abandoned.

The stretch of silence made it loosen its fingers from Oberon's foot and crawl backwards a few paces. But it didn't look away, still holding its head high and his gaze keen. The King remembered how its eyes had wandered so much before, with fear and shyness and terror. Now, it seemed so sure of itself it was almost unsettling. 

He found himself crouching down again, holding that strange, intense gaze.  
“And can you give me the reason you want it so much that you decided to disrespect me so utterly and risk losing any favor I might have held for you?”

Now, the first signs of unease seemed to creep up on it.  
“My King didn't abandon me to the dungeons or left me to be broken by the Queen. He kept me tied but not tortured, hungry but not starving. There was mercy in all of his actions. But now...  
He took my name and my powers and there is nothing I have left to give. And now he is leaving.”

“You think I am already tired of you?”

“I want to make a better case for my worth.”

Oberon couldn't help but laugh out loud at that, bright and delighted. He fell to the floor on is backside, laughing harder than he had in a long time.  
Looking upon the shocked, put upon look of little Robin in front of him spurned a new string of laughter from him.

“You utterly ridiculous thing!”  
wiping away tears from his eyes he sprang to his feet.  
“Believing I would forget about you during the time it takes to take a bath!”

Finally, it looked away, squirming slightly, a pale green blush on its cheeks.  
“Not exactly, my King. I just... well... I took from your grace without having the chance to give back in any way. This is my first chance and I was too overwhelmed to use it and now...”

“Now you have given back, by making me laugh. But I will go with you. Maybe you will make me laugh again?”  
he teased, holding out his hand for it to grasp.

It smiled then, big and toothy, the first one the King had seen from it, and it transformed its face in the most wondrous way, making it almost breathtakingly beautiful and wild-looking. It let itself be pulled up to its feet with a jump.  
“Maybe I will.”

 

 

The baths brought a new surprise. While it threw its tattered, dirty clothes haphazardly on a pile, one mud-caked foot already in the water, Oberon grabbed its arm and turned it around, looking between its legs to make sure he hadn't been mistaken.

“Have I caught myself a little male then?”

It looked down itself, as if having to make sure that was actually the case, before shrugging.  
“Seems that way, does it not? I know most fairies of the air don't have anything there, but I don't really mind it. There is, after all, a lot of fun to be had with it.”

“Is that so?”

It sat down in the pool, dipped its head underneath the waters, coming up with a splutter and wet curls hanging limply down its face, its wild grin back.  
“I had many lovers, my King. Male and female and those that are neither. I've had and have been had by humans and fairies and beasts and, of course, by my own right hand.”

“Of course.”  
Oberon watched amused as it started scrubbing itself with a piece of cloth, merrily babbling on, recounting a tale of meeting a water nymph by a riverside that had been very enthusiastic about making love at first, only to start making a string of demands right in the middle of things. 

At first it should transform its privates into female, then its skin blue and its hair to be longer and finally, when she had given its face close scrutiny and complaint about the shape of its eyebrows, Robin had shoved her away none too gently, turning back into its own form and suggested she should just talk to the other nymph she clearly wanted to be with. Which had her swimming away grumbling to herself that 'she should apologize first, the heartless wench'.

It continued stringing together useless, entertaining words like a soothing rainfall while cleaning itself up and getting dressed in soft, green cloth and, while walking with the King through the halls, it was almost skipping with energy, eyes sparkling and smelling so very, very sweet and inviting, like apples dipped in honey and Oberon felt like falling in love. 

In the Kings chambers, it immediately made its way towards the large tray of fruits and meats that had been put on the big oak table under the windows, its stomach rumbling audibly.

“Now, stop right there.”

Quickly, it snatched its hand back, that had already been reaching out and turned around guiltily.  
“Apologies. I forgot.”

“You have an unfortunate habit to forget quite a lot of things, when it suits you.”  
he chided Robin gently.

“Ah, well...”  
It scratched its wet locks abashedly.

“You are no longer walking my halls like a thief. You will ask for food.”

It nodded eagerly, its eyes already shooting little, greedy glances towards the tray again, before blinking ever so sweetly up at Oberon, its hands folded behind is back.  
“If it pleases my King, may I have some food?”

Oberon sighed. This Puck will be the death of him. Titania would certainly be delighted, seeing him like this, after just a handful of hours trying and failing to control the little trickster.

And so, they sat on the floor and ate and drank the heavy, sweet wine that had been brought with the food. It ate like a starving thing, at first, as if fearing the food would be taken away from it at any moment, shoving it hastily inside its mouth, seemingly without chewing, juices dripping over its hands and mouth, too fast and desperate to taste, leaving greasy stains on its goblet when it gulped down its wine.  
Disgusting, yes, but Oberon couldn't help but feel a sense of dark pride at the sight, his own food forgotten, losing himself in strange thoughts.

'Look at it, pitiful creature. You caught it, cleaned it, dressed it in your clothes. Now, it is eating your food, gorging itself with what you gave it. It lives by your mercy alone. You have absolute power over it. It is yours. Take it. It won't struggle. It will probably be relieved to have something asked of it that it is obviously familiar with. Will spread its legs and arch its back and mewl so very sweetly.'

But then, Robin started slowing down and talking again and the Kings mood melted like ice in warm water.  
It recounted tales of its travels and tricks it had pulled on countless poor creatures that were unlucky enough to be convenient, and not before long his insides and cheeks were hurting with laughter, because not only were the stories hilarious, Robin was also a very gifted narrator, imitating voices and gesticulating wildly, even smacking the King one or twice by accident, which was followed by profound apologizing and more giggling from both of them.

At last, Oberon dragged his still snickering little trickster up upon his bed, curling around it and burrowing beneath the heavy, soft blankets, were it fell asleep almost instantaneously. He took a few moments, petting its soft hair and even softer skin, pressing his nose against its neck and breathing in deeply. Apples. Honey. Lavender.

Oh, he will keep this one, alright.

 

 

It went well for a lot longer than he thought. Titania's warning kept echoing in his head, but there were no signs of direct disobedience yet.

Oberon had freed it from the binding magic the next evening, which it has liked a lot, immediately disappearing into shadows and reappearing with a happy laugh. But the next words from its King clearly caught it off guard.

“I am... free to go?”  
Robin scrunched its pointy nose in confusion.

“Now, I didn't say that. I am allowing you free reign of the palace, but you are not to leave the grounds. If you do, I will call out your name with my magic and find you and there will be punishment, no matter your excuse. You will have to learn to obey me, you understand?”

“But I am allowed to go anywhere here? After I... well, after what I have done?”

Oberon grasped its chin, making sure to keep its attention in him:  
“I am giving you a few simple rules. You won't go beyond the edges of my palace. You will not do irreparable damage to the creatures and structures you find here. And, the most important rule of all: You will return to my quarters before the sun goes up. Then, we will eat and drink and you will tell me all about what you have done during the night.”

“What if I done something not nice?”

“Especially if you have done something not nice. You will tell me and you will make me laugh, won't you? And if you follow my rules, I will let you wander further and further. I might even send you after specific people to torment. Would you like that?”

It giggled with a sort of breathlessness, nodding eagerly. And then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. Feeling out, the King could sense it somewhere near the gardens, spraying little bits of magic as it went. There was a loud scream, some cries about the fish having grown legs and scuttling on land to hide between the high grass.

Oberon shrugged with a smile. The Puck was rather excitable, it seemed. And it held its side of the bargain, coming back again and again, filling the Kings chambers with stories and laughter and the scent of its happiness. 

(And if, at times, the strangely insistent compulsion to hold it down and bury himself inside it with body and powers alike came back, he just ignored it as much as possible. Too early still, for that.)

He started to allow Robin reign over the forest and finally, after weeks without major incidents, let it go into the small human villages on the edges of the tree lines.

And then came the night Robin Goodfellow didn't come back.

 

 

First, he was furious, believing it had simply forgotten the passing of time in its play.  
Fairies weren't helpless during the day, far from it, but the sun drained them in the same way the stars and moon strengthened them. If it hadn't managed to return before dawn, it would seek shelter somewhere until the sun went down. So, when it didn't return at the beginning of the next night, worry started creeping in. It wouldn't just have run away. Not with the way its eyes were gleaming with satisfaction whenever it managed to make its King laugh or the sweet way it curled up with him in his bed every morning. No, he wouldn't believe that. 

He had threatened to find it and drag it back and he would do it, especially now that he suspected something might have happened to it.  
But, when he reached out to call its name, the echo of its magic was muffled, as if through a thick cloth, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere.

He couldn't see it! That was impossible. Was it dying? Already dead and what he was receiving was the last resonance of a once bright spirit?  
Had a fairy in search for revenge managed to get a lucky blow? But everyone knew about his trickster by now. Robin was no secret and while the King had given permission to chase it away whenever it became too bothersome, seriously harming it would never be allowed.  
Had it been a human with some sort of trap? Some of them were quite tricky and not friendly towards the creatures of the spirit world.

He would kill them. No matter who or what was taking or had already taken his Robin away, he would rip them to shreds and burn the earth around them.  
He would make them regret ever touching what was his.

 

 

Oberon stormed to his chambers, ready to grab his bow, to put a spell on it to find the last location he could pinpoint his Puck had been. From then out, he would have his soldiers search every crack and hole to find... 

“My Robin!”

There it was, right in the middle of the vast bed of its King, curled up on the covers, covered with mud and scratches, staring at him with its yellow eyes wide and feverish.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. It didn't feel like Robin, but like something foreign. Something uninvited and dangerous. Feeling for its core the King felt his powers slide off uselessly, like water of a ducks back.  
It smelled wrong. Every smell the little thing had given out had been pleasant, even its fear and terror. But whatever this was, it tingled Oberon's nose in a way that was uncomfortable and made the hair on his neck stand up.

“My King.”  
The creature on his bed answered. Even its voice was wrong, a strange resonance to it.  
It stumbled up on its feet, staggering towards him. Oberon took a step back, couldn't help it. It froze in its tracks, tilting its head and blinking its birdlike eyes like a hawk regarding a mouse. Licked its lips.

“You are late.”  
Oberon murmured, walking in a slow circle, careful to keep his distance.

“I have a story to tell.”  
it croaked, showing its teeth like threat.

Again, the King reached out to its core and again felt his grip slip.  
And the creature that wasn't Robin Goodfellow started its tale.


	2. Chapter 2

Humans really were the best targets for pranks. Other than fairies and other creatures of the spirit world, who were familiar with magics of all sorts and animals that lived from instincts alone, humans were not only wonderfully ignorant but also very sure of the rules of the world they lived in. So, whenever something happened that didn't make sense to them, they either started to lose their heads and ran around shrieking and hitting at empty air, or they stubbornly refused to acknowledge what was right in front of their eyes, no matter how ridiculous the situation got.

For tonight, it had decided on a little shack located on the far outskirts of the village. It had seen the lumberer that lived there a few times, a large man with a full, dark beard. It had seen him feeding his chickens, clucking and talking to them fondly like they were little children. It was quite hilarious to witness, that big gruff man talking so sweetly to his stupid fat birds. 

This was were it would start, it decided, sneaking its way into the coop. It could begin by turning them into an interesting color.  
Or it could make them all disappear and then reappear again in peculiar places, like the outhouse or inside of a cabinet. What a great idea!

The image of the man frantically carrying them back into the coop one by one, struggling while feathers flew and they squawked loudly, only to have them disappear again as soon as they touched the ground of their enclosure already made it giggle in excitement.  
The human, in his panic, might keep all his chickens with him in the house overnight, his long arms wrapped around them to protect them from an unseen force. A giant mother hen, so to speak.

It couldn't explain to itself exactly how it had happened. Maybe it had been too distracted by its plans, maybe the human was a lot faster and quieter as it had expected.

The door of the small coop flew open behind it, just as it reached out with its hand towards one of the fattest hens, the murmur of a spell already on its lips. It whirled around, staring at the human filling out the frame. There was a short embarrassing pause and an even more embarrassing moment of true panic on Robin's side at the sight of a glowering, hairy giant of a man and the iron axe in his grip.  
It shot a clumsy, uncoordinated spell at him, more out of reflex than anything else, hoping to paralyze him and quickly slip past him into the safety of the night, but the magic dissipated harmlessly against one of the wood bars next to him, too off course.

The human staggered back, blinking rapidly, before shaking his head and focusing back on it. He looked angry, but his voice didn't sound it.  
“Are you lost, boy?”

I am not a boy, it wanted to say. 

The burst of panic was over and now it felt rather foolish. This was a human. An ordinary human, with no magics or powers. Not a threat at all. In fact, it could slip into the shadows right now, disappear from sight and reappear deep into the forest and there was nothing this human could do to stop it. It was, despite the scary looking iron axe, perfectly safe.

Thinking that, it realized the human had stepped forwards, reaching out, grabbing its arm. There was still a slightly dazed look in his dark eyes, but his grip was sure and the big, warm hand reached all around its limb. Humans were always so warm.  
This wouldn't hold it. It was a purely physical thing. It could escape any moment. It could...

(It thought about being gripped by vines, holding both its magic and its body. Snaking around it, winding and holding and squeezing, making it feel trapped and helpless and vulnerable and safe.  
So safe, because no matter how much it struggled, the vines wouldn't let go, so there was nothing left but surrender.)

“You are freezing, boy. Come inside, I have a fire going.”

Run, it thought.

It didn't. It let itself be dragged out of the coop and towards the shack.  
Why run when there is no danger, it thought, trying to excuse the strange feeling of compliance that had come over it. Maybe something funny will happen. Something very entertaining its King will laugh about.

The heavy wooden door fell shut behind it. The inside of the cabin smelled like cut wood and was lit by the crackling oven and several oil lamps. Enough light for a human to see clearly, to see what he had found in his shed was not a boy at all. It had no glamours on its appearance, not expecting to run into anyone. It probably should have. Stupid.

The human didn't scream. Or went for his axe. He just stared at it some more, before nodding to himself, as if deciding on something.  
“Sit down. You must be hungry.”

It really, really wasn't. And it didn't want to be here, in this place that smelled like dead wood and human, feeling so very trapped even when it wasn't. It could just leave. Nothing was stopping it.

It let itself be sat down on one of the chairs at the table next to the fire. A pot was hanging over it, some sort of stew gently simmering inside it. It watched the human fetch a wooden bowl and a spoon, filling it carefully. 

Why wasn't it just leaving?

“What is your name, boy?”

(...give me your name...)

Not like that time, not at all. The King had demanded in his authority, the vibration of his breathtaking power behind his order. It had to answer, a deeply rooted desire to please a being so absolutely superior to it. 

“Robin Goodfellow.”

The words were out of its mouth just as horrifyingly easy as it had been with its King. Panic fluttered in its throat.

But no, everything was alright, it told itself frantically.  
Feeling out it determined that yes, it was the only source of magic in a wide breadth, no danger, no danger at all. This man wasn't a witch, had no spells on or around him. All that was present in this cabin beside it was the softly flickering soul humans possessed, pretty but useless. 

For a human, a name was just that, a name and nothing more. He couldn't DO anything with it.

The man smiled, putting the bowl down in front of it.  
“Here you go.”

The food tasted bland and sat strangely in its stomach. The ale he gave it afterwards was just as tasteless but left a buzzing in its head that wasn't all that unpleasant.

Then, the human took it to bed. Just picked it right up and carried it to the little cot in the corner and that really wasn't a surprise, because humans did that with it sometimes, but not while there wasn't a glamour on it, not while they could see its horns and eyes and the unnatural way it shimmered.

And this human saw. There was no denial, no eyes glazed over with the desperate wish for normalcy. He undressed it slowly, taking his time to stare and touch, the callouses on his rough hands catching on its delicate skin. 

(The Kings hands were soft. His touches had been strong and sure and comfortable. This was nothing like it.)

“Look at you. Just what are you doing here, little one?”

Robin bit its lips until it hurt. If it wouldn't talk, maybe this wasn't real. But it had already talked. It had given this human its name. What had it been thinking?

The human laughed, then stopped, reaching out with his thumb to its lips, wiping carefully and coming away with bright green blood. Then he kissed it.  
Time slowed and tilted sideways. Everything smelled and tasted and felt like this human, scratchy beard hairs on its face and neck and it stared wide-eyed at the wooden ceiling and just tried to breathe, breathe, breathe.

“I know exactly what you are, Robin Goodfellow.”  
It shuddered by the sound of its name, feeling as ensnared as it had felt with Oberon, even if it was impossible, because it was just a human. A human who laughed again, grabbing on one of its little horns and pulling its head back and back before biting its neck viciously and wonderfully.

“There is talk about you in town. A little goblin who crawled out of the woods to steal and destroy, to curse our crops and spirit away our children. Did you come here thinking we would be defenseless?”

'Beg. Beg for forgiveness. Your master might show mercy yet.'

'My master is my King.'

'And who is your King?'

For a short, horrible moment it didn't know. The large human man with his beard and his dark, dark eyes? Or Oberon, beautiful and unimaginable powerful?

“But don't be scared, imp. I won't give you to the priests or the angry mob. You are very lucky I found you. I know how to take care of creatures like you. I can give you what you need.”

Thick fingers that tasted like salt and earth were shoved into its mouth and it gagged in shock. All it could think of were leaves filled with juice meant to keep it from wasting away.  
But then it understood, this was the same. This was mercy, just as the leaves had been.  
Robin suckled on them, biting gently, working its tongue around them. 

The human groaned, rubbing himself with his other hand, staring down at it hungrily.  
“Of course you would be good at this. Dirty little harlot. So shamelessly taking it. This is what you wanted all along. This is why you are here, sneaking around my house like a bitch in heat.”

(...you walked into my castle knowing you could not escape for long...)

Its mouth felt too empty when he removed his fingers and it whined in desperation because it was so very lost and very confused and the human didn't stop talking, just wouldn't stop saying all these things while opening it up so very carefully.

“But these days are over now. You will stay here, with me. This is now your hearth and your home. You will clean my clothes and scrub my floors on your knees. You will cook and you will sew and you will keep my bed warm at night. My own little demon slave. I will never let you leave.”

When he entered it, it was like nothing it had never felt before.  
Oh, it had been taken before, but all of its couplings had been games. It had been fun and excitement. 

Nothing had ever made it feel like it was dying and being reborn as something else. Like there had been something missing that it hadn't even known about, hadn't even dreamt about. Like there had been an itch its entire life and finally, finally someone had scratched it.

“With time, you won't even want to any more. You will learn to enjoy it. My pretty little wife. So desperate to be filled by me, praised by me. Loved by me. I will give you everything you need. And you have needed it for so long, haven't you? Poor neglected thing.”

Robin dug its hands anywhere it could reach, scratching red paths down his arms, fasting sharp teeth in the meat of his shoulder. It only made the human groan louder, go faster. No more fear, no more uncertainty, just building pleasure and perfect, perfect friction. 

He spilled inside it then, one hot gust of release after the other, before finally giving a deeply satisfied sigh.  
Robin let itself fall back on the bed, gasping and shaking, still impaled. A feeling of unbelievable peace came over it. Belonging. Safety.

“Sweetheart.”  
it heard the human whisper, retreating from it carefully only to put his fingers back inside, making it whine as they pressed against where it was sore but still desperate.  
“Look how good I am to you.”

He moved his fingers gently inside it, wrapping his other hand around its member and brought it to completion with the utmost care, milking it through the last shivers before kissing it again.  
“Sweet Robin. My little bird. I have clipped your wings and now you are mine.”

Robin fell asleep with the weight of the human pressing down on it and a smile on its face. This was right. This was as it should be. 

 

 

It woke up pleasantly heavy with sleep and the deep ache of lovemaking. Its master was lying next to it, snoring deeply. It smiled, reaching out and touching the bristly beard with curious fingers, giggling with joy.

It shouldn't stay in bed any more. It was already late. The fireplace had to be cleaned out. Then breakfast. Humans ate... porridge? Now, how to make porridge...

It slipped unnoticed from beneath its master, dressing itself in its mussed clothes, blinking in the harsh light coming through the cracks in the windows. So bright. Too bright. Why was it so bright?

There was a pulling inside of it, a lulling voice telling it to go to work, to please its master. To do what had been ordered.

'Clean out the fireplace. Make him food. Be good.'

But... it had forgotten something, something important.

The sun was up. There was a significance to it. A horror to it. Because... 

Robin fell to its knees, letting out a whining keen, something was wrong and it hurt and it didn't make sense...

(You will return to my quarters before the sun goes up.)

It ran. Stumbling through the door into radiant sunlight, running by clucking chickens and the small vegetable garden, didn't dare to look back.

The cool shadows of the forest didn't bring any relief. It felt strange and unwelcome, its magic a scrambled, weak thing unable to take hold of what was its home.

'Because it's not your home. Not anymore. Go back. Your master awaits you.'

“No!”  
it screamed, its own voice a shock to it. It even sounded different. What had that human done to it?

It stumbled on, tripping over roots and scratching itself on twigs in a way no fairy should ever do. They move alongside the trees as friends, not intruders. But that was what it was now. An intruder. Something had been twisted inside it and it wanted to scream and scream but it needed its breath. It needed to go back to the palace and find its King and then everything will sort itself out. That horrid feeling will stop. It just has to find the palace. 

It couldn't find the palace. A new wave of panic came over it. The palace was a shining beacon of magic, impossible to overlook. But it couldn't sense... anything. Its essence wasn't bound, it could still feel its magic thrumming through its veins, even if it felt different, changed, like everything else about it.

But it couldn't sense Oberon's powers anywhere, as if the forest was empty. But that wasn't possible. It was a fae and every fae was connected to their King.

'Unless you are no longer truly fae.'

So, it kept wandering around the forest, trying to remember where to go without the help of its magic. The day dragged on and so it went, stumbling and uncoordinated but still going mulishly, ignoring the whispering to just go back to the human, no matter how much it hurt inside. When the sun started going down and blessed darkness came over the forest, it felt slightly better, slightly more like itself. 

Unfurling its magic for what felt like the thousandth time it could feel it. Faint, so very faint, but it was its King. An echo, calling for it. It sobbed in relief, threw itself into the trace of magic and opened its eyes on a bed it had spent so many, beautiful days in.

And there was its King, staring at it in shock and confusion. So very powerful and beautiful, a graceful being of dark skin and tall stature. He had been so very kind to it, so very generous.

It wanted to tear him apart. The false, bad King that kept it away from its master. Its good, human master who had taken it and transformed it and owned it. This King was in the way. He had to die so the confusion would stop.

It talked, because that was what the false master liked. The false master who tried to grab it with his magic, but it was changed now, far beyond his reach.  
It talked about everything that had happened to it, every dirty, shameful detail. Some of it was hazy, didn't make sense, but that was alright, because the King had sat down on one of his chairs during the tale, his face a blank mask and his hands shaking, no longer backing away so it could crawl closer, closer.  
It started sewing its spell before it was even aware it was doing it, a delicate web spun in a wide circle, careful now.

The blow was sudden and powerful, a wave of magic that slammed it against the wall with crushing might. The tendrils of pure power wrapped around its core again, but this time they didn't slip. This time, they had thorns that buried themselves inside it, holding on.

It was agony. The purest, most horrible pain it had ever experienced. So white-hot and all-consuming that everything faded, everything except the desperate, desperate plea of 'make it stop, make it stop, please, please, stop, stop, stop, nonononono...'

And then everything went dark and quiet.

 

 

Oberon didn't move for the longest time. He had pierced whatever madness had engulfed his Puck but staring at the crumpled form in the corner of his room, he felt horribly empty and lost.

At least now he knew that what had come into his quarters, what had attacked him, was actually Robin Goodfellow, not some imposter. Magic was slowly trickling out of the wounds he had ripped inside its core and beneath all the strangeness, inside, it still felt like the little creature he had come to know. 

What in all the worlds had happened?  
He tried to pry apart the muddled story it had told him, but that really didn't make sense. No human should have that kind of power. So, what was it?

He thought about the lack of other Pucks in the known world. Of the possibility of deeply hidden madness that their kind might carry inside them which lead them to destruction. After all, the changing world was harder on some fae then others...

None of these musings were helping right now.  
He hated how his first thought were the dungeons. After all, it already seemed feral enough to belong there. The fairy had outright attacked him, this was high treason, no way around it.

But the situation just didn't seem that simple. It had been too sudden, too out of nowhere, and even if the King didn't detect any trace of foreign magic on Robin that could have been the culprit, it obviously hadn't been itself.

The other problem was how off-putting the creature still was to him. Despite bleeding clean, soft magic from within, it was still covered with this strange, almost tangible change to it. When it had touched him, sharp little claws digging into his calf, he had nearly kicked it in revulsion. 

He wanted it as far away from him as possible. The feeling was hurtful and cold but came from too deep within as to be fought against. 

Should he just... set it free somewhere?  
But no matter how unsavory the little Puck seemed to him now, his greed and possessiveness still flared up at that plan. Releasing it would mean someone else might take it. And, weak and mad as it was, anyone could do it. Maybe even that human who had bedded it and who might have caused whatever it was that had made it feral. 

This could never happen. The Puck was his, even if it was no longer that sweet, entertaining little trickster that had brought a light into his heart and he would never, ever just throw it away, no matter how much it had changed and how much looking at it made him feel sick.

Finally, he decided that the best way to deal with it would be to take it to the edge of the palace gardens to the large, old oaks that resigned there. A quiet place, devoid of other fairies. There, he would call on the vines of his palace and have them grow up one of the trees and carry it with them. There, it would stay for now, as far away as it could be while still standing under the King's protection. He'd give it the leaves again for sustenance, hoping it knew somewhere in its madness that this meant it wasn't abandoned. Just kept bound, for now. With the familiar vines holding its limbs and the thorny tendrils of the Kings power clutched around its essence. 

Then, he would wait. And hope.

 

 

Days went by. Then weeks. Then months.  
Putting it so far away had been to spare him to have to look at it, but he still found himself walking invisibly in the shadows under the oak trees every night, staring up at his suffering little captive and quietly aching. He knew about the flurry of rumors among his servants but couldn't find the energy to care.

There was change, but not in the way Oberon had hoped. While the strange magic was slowly, so slowly dripping away and looking at the fairy became easier, it was also clearly not because it was coming back to its senses. 

His little Puck was dying.

In the beginning, it had struggled and whimpered in pain, tears falling almost constantly.  
Now, it wasn't moving any more. Its breath was thin and its heart was beating sluggishly. Its essence, still leaking ever so slightly in its King's cruel grip, was no longer vibrating with life. Instead, it lay completely still, like a dead thing. It was barely glowing any more.  
It hadn't bitten the leaves in too long a time. Sometimes, in desperation, the King made their veins pop on their own, filling its mouth with juice and forcing it to shallow or choke. 

It didn't smell unpleasant any more.  
Now, it didn't smell like anything at all.

Oberon longed to take it down and put his arms around it. But he didn't dare.  
What if the madness came back? He couldn't bear the thought of having to give it up again.  
So he watched it wasting away, too much of a coward.  
Over the last few days, the oak he had tied it to started whispering to him in his head, whenever he came by.  
'There is still life in it, but not for long. Let me have it. I would engulf it with my bark and gently squeeze the last breath out of it. Its essence would stay with me for a long time, it would help me grow even stronger and taller. Let not go to waste what is still able to nourish someone as old and powerful as me.'

He never answered, but he thought about it. Walking beneath the trees and looking at the one whose leaves were greenest and whose wood was strongest and knowing some part of Robin Goodfellow was still there, creating life and beauty... It was preferable to the slow decay that he was looking at now.

Then, one morning, a tawny owl flew to his window, carrying a message from the Queen that changed everything.

 

 

“My beloved King,

I know how highly unusual a letter from me might seem to you. But something happened that I just could not let sit until the celebration of solstice, so please, bear with me.

Myself and my entourage are currently in a little place high up in the mountains. We have come across a small, but very old colony of snow fae. Dreadful creatures, to be perfectly honest. So very old-fashioned, I was not even allowed to bring my lovely human slave girl into their village. Luckily, Moth and Cobweb volunteered to keep her save in a little cave a short way away, they do seem rather taken with her.

Still, I am quite glad I still decided to visit this group of grouchy creatures, if just for the vast library of rare scriptures they have hidden away in their burrows. A fountain of lost knowledge at my very fingertips, my love. I am sure you can picture my excitement.

And I found something that might be of immediate interest to you, because I remember a certain little creature you were very fond of.

The texts mostly painted the origins of Pucks. A lot of it was probably either fabricated or highly romanticized, as texts like these sometimes are.  
But it there was a part that just seemed too detailed and precise to dismiss it outright.

The paragraph spoke about a ritual of binding. Once, it seemed to have been common knowledge, especially among humans, if you would believe it, because you don't need any magic of your own to cast it. It is something a Puck casts on itself.

See, a Puck is an inherently lonely creature, as the text puts it. They are mischievous and wild, but deep down they are driven by an urge to belong, to feel needed and safe.  
So, they are more than willing to let themselves be tied down to a master. If you would trust what is written here, once upon, there had been quite a number of human homes with a Puck servant. 

It doesn't say here what happened to them, if their binds to mortals caused them to eventually die themselves, but it seemed likely, which would explain why there are no more Pucks found nowadays.

Unless you count that sweet creature you had shown me on my last visit, of course. Are you still trying to tame the poor thing, I wonder? Or have you lost your patience already? Unfortunately, being so far up and away from my usual sources of information, I honestly do not know what is happening in your court.

If it is still around and not broken yet, you might try the little ritual that has allegedly gifted many humans a willing, obedient Puck for their own:  
First you catch it. Then, you have to trick it into telling you their name.  
Both rather difficult to achieve as a human, I might add, but the text implied that, the lonelier the Puck, the easier it is, right up to the little fairies knocking on people's houses.  
Next, you feed it. And lastly, you bed it, taking your pleasure and making it imprint on you.

And it is done. How absolutely, charmingly simple these creatures are. Now, I am even more jealous than before of your quarry.

So, go on, take it before I arrive at your court and steal it for myself.

 

Your Queen,

Titania

 

P.S. Reading the ritual again, I can't help but feel you might have completed it unintentionally. If this is the case, I congratulate you to your Puck.”

 

 

Robin didn't even twitch when he ordered the vines to lay it gently to the ground and retreat. Not even when he carefully pulled out the cruel thorns that had been embedded in its essence, freeing it completely. Its eyes were half-open and unseeing and its magic was so dull is might as well have been dead. 

He lifted it in his arms, swallowing back tears. What had he done? How utterly ignorant, how stupid, how horridly cruel had he been to this gentle thing that had come to him seeking shelter and love? It didn't matter that he hadn't known, he should have known. He was King of Fairies, was he not? There was no excuse for this.

He carried it back to the palace, the place it should never have been banned from, holding to it tightly, ignoring the looks he got from his servants. Let them talk. 

He cleaned it up in the baths, thinking bitterly of that other time he had been here with it, how happy and full of stories and life it had been and how he had destroyed all that beauty. Now, it lay motionless in the water as the King cleaned up dirt and moss from its skin, petting its sunken face and starkly protruding ribs and wilted curls, which were a lot sparser than they had been.

He cried, then.  
Because it was too late. Because he had been so very arrogantly assumed to know what was right, to know how to tame something he couldn't even begin to understand.  
He should have given it to Titania. She would have broken it too, but she would have been so much kinder about it.  
Even the dungeon would have been better. At least there it would have gone insane with quiet dignity.

Two things happened simultaneously.  
The wounds in its essence, that had until just now still been dripping the precious little magic it had left, closed up, leaving behind a landscape of scars.  
And Robin let out a soft sign, closing its eyes and leaning its head into the Kings hand.

With a wildly beating heart he lifted the sprite out of the pool, cradled it as tightly as he dared, kissing its forehead while whispering its name over and over, drenching himself in water and not caring at all.

It was still fighting. It was still living. There was still hope.

 

 

Over the next days, he kept it in his bed, caring for it as tenderly as he could. It didn't wake up, but it seemed more alive than before, more like it was sleeping than wasting away.  
He fed it soft, liquid food, spooning it into its mouth in tiny doses, massaging its throat gently to encourage it to swallow. He sang to it, the wordless sweet melodies he had learned eons ago, infused with magics too old to have any grasp on this modern world, but they were pretty and soothing, nonetheless. 

On the night of the full moon he carried it to the roof and lay it on the soft grass there, stretched out and naked under the silver light of their all-mother and, for the first time, its core started to vibrate again gently.

The next night, its eyes opened and there was intelligence in them.

 

 

Robin had been engulfed in darkness for the longest time.  
The darkness was good, because the alternative was pain. And it had been in pain, once. It couldn't remember how or why, but there had been so much of it.  
But now, the darkness started to thin, no longer pressing down quite as unrelenting and feeling out, the pain was... not gone. But bearable. It was old pain, a fading ache.

It opened its eyes and saw a face looking back. It was a very handsome face, framed with black, waving hair, with dark skin and bright green eyes. There was power behind that face, and a strange rush came over the fairy, a knowledge that went as deep as its bones. 

This was Oberon, the King of Fairies. It was looking up at one, if not the mightiest creature in existence and it had probably drooled on itself in its sleep because it did that sometimes...

It tried to jump up and away, reaching out to cling itself to the next shadow to make its escape but its limbs were horribly heavy and slow and hurting and its magic was so weak it could barely reach out outside of its body, nonetheless do anything with it. 

“...ow...”  
it whimpered, before it could stop itself.

“Easy, easy. Lie still.”  
The Kings voice was gentle and as handsomely dark as his appearance.

It might have swooned a little bit, had it not felt so very terribly confused.  
Why was the King talking to it so softly? Why was the King talking to it at all, for that matter?

“This is very strange.”  
it mumbled and stared up ahead. 

There was a ceiling above it, overgrown with vines and thick, green leaves, and there was something in the back of its mind, scratching and pointing and babbling at that, but it didn't understand a word of what was said.

It was lying on a bed that was way too big for...anyone, really, but especially for it. 

And the King was sitting next to it, his face worried and intense and so earnest that it really, really wanted to make a joke about it, but the something in its mind was growing louder, more panicked.

Screaming at it to get out.

Then screaming at it to throw itself at the King and beg and beg and beg. 

“Did...something happen? Did I do something? I did something, didn't I? So sorry, I am so sorry, whatever it was...”  
It was stopped by a hand being put over his mouth and, to its horror, by the sight of tears in the Kings eyes.

“Ssh, no, no, nothing you did has been your fault.  
It was me. All along, it had been me. But I will make it right again, I promise you. You will never have to suffer again.”

Well, that was a rather disturbing sight, watching the most powerful creature it had ever come across cry and talk nonsense.  
So it did the first thing it could think of and licked the hand over its mouth, making the tall fairy retreat in shock. 

“That is very appreciated, my King. I DO dislike suffering.”  
It spoke very slowly and clearly.  
Maybe the King was sick or drunk or under some sort of spell.

He furrowed his smooth brow in confusion.  
“You can't remember?”

“No, I can't. I would apologize for this, my King, but seeing how you reacted the last time I attempted to, I think I rather not. Um, where am I, exactly?”

“In my private chambers.”

“Where?!”  
it squeaked, kicking the King by accident. Luckily not very hard. Its limbs were still very stubbornly resisting its commands.

The King smiled at that, even if it was weak and slightly watery.  
“Oh, you do test me, little Puck.”

Then there was...something touching it. Not its body, but its core. The part of it that was protected, closed off to all. It was a soft touch, the touch of its King, dizzyingly powerful and very, very nice. But it really shouldn't be possible.

“How are you doing this?”  
it whispered in wonder, staring up at its King.

“You gave me your name, Robin Goodfellow.”

“I...did?”  
It knew a name given meant power. It didn't know it also meant being able to be touched in this sweetly intimate way.

The touch grew bolder, feeling at it, as if searching for something and before coming to an abrupt halt. The King put his hand to its cheek and Robin found itself leaning into it before it could stop. It felt really good, being held in two places at once.

“I am so sorry for this. I am a selfish King and very tempted to keep you like this, ignorant of all the horrible things I did to you. But you deserve the truth, even if it will hurt. Even if it will make you hate me. You have been kept from making your own decisions for far too long.”

It wanted to ask what he was talking about, why it was so scared all of the sudden. It wanted the darkness back. It wanted to run and stay and cry and scream and...

The King touched something inside of it that had been curled up protectively like a hedgehog, opening it up, letting memories flow back.

Oh.

 

 

Oberon had to hold it down for a while, the wailing creature changing between fighting to get away and clawing at him to get closer. But the fit eventually ended, and while it was teary-eyed and exhausted to the point of passing out, to his relief, it was still lucid. 

He sat with it against the headboard, its back cushioned against his front and his arms wrapped carefully around it.

“Can you read?”  
He hoped it could. Reading the letter out loud would be grueling for both of them.

“I'm not... very fast. But I can.”  
Its voice was scratchy and shaky but calm.

He gave the parchment to it without a comment. There was nothing left for him to say. Now he just had to wait.

 

 

It stayed quiet for an eternity, at least that was what it felt like to him. 

Staring intently at the words, mouthing some of them noiselessly to grasp their meaning. Reading them a second time, as if making sure it hadn't been mistaken. 

And then, worst of all, it let the letter sink down and just, sat there unmoving. Going through the last months and recontextualizing, no doubt, just as Oberon had done after he had read it.

“I didn't know that.”  
it said finally.

The King sighed painfully. He had suspected that much but hearing it out loud was still an awful thing.

“Neither did I.”

“But that means...”  
it stopped there.

And the King, not able to stand this state of in between any more, finished the thought.  
“It means I started the ritual without even realizing and never bothered to complete it. It means I kept you afloat in uncertainty for weeks until you managed to find someone who was willing and able to take you, but the unfinished spell was still on you, ripping at your core, making you lose your mind. You...”

“But I wasn't unhappy!”  
it twisted in his arms, looking up at him with wide, yellow eyes.  
“I have never felt as good as I did with you. Why would I need another master?”

“Of course you felt good. The spell is supposed to hold you until it is done. Tell me, how did you feel after the human finished the ritual? Good?”  
The last question came out harsh and bitter. He couldn't help it.

Its little face fell.  
“No.”  
it whimpered.  
“I felt...home...”

“You never felt that way with me. So, your nature decided to look elsewhere.”  
He couldn't stop the cruelty in his words, the misguided anger finally breaking free.

Which was why he was completely shocked by the next question Robin asked.  
“Why did you never finish it?”

“What?”

“I know you didn't know about the ritual, but still. The months before. I was in your bed every day. You wanted me, I was very aware of that. But you never touched me in that way. Why not?”

He looked away, uncomfortable.  
“It is not that simple...”

“Why? I wanted it too, you know.”

“Will you let me finish?!”  
he snapped, before taking a deep breath.  
“You told me right away about your numerous lovers, assuring me how very experienced you were. I knew you were offering yourself to me. But your little trysts with whatever held still long enough for you to get off on cannot compare to what awaits you when you attempt to bed the King of the Fairies.”

“I did feel you against me, you know. You are big, but not that big.”

He stared at it, open-mouthed, torn between wanting to smack it, shake it or just laugh at the stupidity of it all.  
“I am not talking about that, you ignorant creature.  
My pleasure, like any other fae, is not just of body, but of magic. And I am very, very powerful.  
I could kill you if I am not careful.  
So yes, I wanted you. And yes, I had planned on taking you, eventually. But I wanted to wait until you felt comfortable and confident enough around me that I wouldn't have to worry about you not telling me when I would forget myself and start to literally BURN your essence out of your body!”

Suddenly curled up very small and cheeks tinted deeply green, it murmured meekly:  
“I see.”

Oberon sighed again, gathering it back into his arms.  
“I am sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I am ashamed and worried and none of this is on you.”

There were a few moments of silence and the King already thought the little sprite might have fallen asleep again, drained from all these revelations and the lingering weakness it still fought against.

But then it spoke up again, eyes closed and face nestled against his chest.  
“They are gone now, though. Both spells, yours and... the one from the human. I am free again.”

“It must have been a last, desperate try to save yourself. And, with your magic being almost completely drained, there had been not much left to hold them in any case. So, in a way, I helped you break free. By bringing you to the brink of death.”

It was quiet at that but one of its little hands reached up and held onto his long, dark hair, pulling slightly, before yawning and mumbling:  
“That wasn't very nice of you. Then again, I remember trying to kill you. So, I suggest we are even.”

“You can't just say that!”  
He spluttered, feeling wrong-footed in a way that was so very reminiscent to how he used to feel around this strange creature before everything went bad. Weird little trickster spirit, he thought fondly. He had noticed it too, of course. The lack of spells on it. It was the smell of it, actually. 

He remembered that that had been what had first drawn him to it. He had completed the first step of the ritual and started the progress of binding it and in turn it had started to put out those compelling aromas, drawing him closer, communicating its needs and moods in the sweetest ways. And it hadn't even known it was doing it. 

After the ritual with the human was completed, it had changed.  
Of course it had seemed strange and wrong and unpleasant to him, it had now been altered to please the mind and body of a human. It had probably smelled delicious to him, had probably seemed like the most delectable little thing, all while the spell was trying to get rid of its former master in any way and as quickly possible.

Now, it was neither unnaturally enticing or revolting. It was just itself, without anything altering it into pleasing a potential owner.

Looking down at it, feeling its soft, even breaths and the trusting way it lay back against him, there was a heavy weight lodged inside his stomach, feeling how much slighter the already skinny body was against him, how its core was still so very weak and how it would be forever marked with the scars he gave it, how part of its hair was only now beginning to grow back. 

He wanted it still. Even without the ritual whispering to him about its qualities, even after all the grief between them.  
And it seemed to have forgiven him, to still want to be close to him. It knew about the spell and all of its consequences. It needed a master. 

So, why not repeat the ritual and see it to its end? He would have to be careful taking it, but when it was done it would be his forever. 

Certainly, he was better suited as its master than the human. Then again, Titania had written that most of their masters had been human, so maybe that was arrogance talking again.

Whispering more to himself than to the Puck, unsure if it was even still awake, he forced himself to say:  
“If it's the human you want, I'll bring you back to him.”

Its entire body twitched in surprise, yanking at his hair again in the progress, and it looked up to him with wide, very awake eyes.  
“He is still alive?”

The King shook his head, a bitter laugh stuck in his throat, while carefully untangling its hand from the strand.  
“Oh, believe me, I went to his house with every intent of killing him, right after I left you tied to that tree. I didn't even know about the ritual then, I just thought of him being the last person to have interacted with you while you were still of sound mind and I needed an excuse to tear something apart.  
But then I saw him and he looked just so... devastated.  
I watched him staring out into the forest with such longing in his eyes and I realized that I would have killed him simply for the crime of finding a strange and fascinating little creature in his home and deciding he wanted to keep it.  
That seemed like a very hypocritical thing to do, even for me.”

“And you would just let me go, if I asked you to?”

No.

“Yes.”

“What if I asked you to let me stay?”

Yes. Stay. Be mine. Please.

“If this is what you truly want.”

“What do you want?”

“You already know that.”

“Maybe I want you to say it.”

“Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Because I am difficult. And weird. And loud. And off-putting. People don't usually enjoy being around me because I make them uncomfortable. I bring chaos wherever I go and leave devastation behind me and I like it. I do.  
I know the spell did something to you too. Made you tolerate me. Now, there is no spell and there is just me and I need to know if you actually want to have me by your side or if it is just some misguided sense of ownership that the ritual made you develop.”

It was breathing heavily by the time it was finished, having forgotten to take in air sometime in between.

Oberon was stunned. How could this impossible fairy, that seem so simple-minded in one moment, be almost frighteningly astute in the next?

But apparently now it had reached the end of its pride, because it immediately started backtracking:  
“Never mind, please don't! Thinking about it, there is obviously a very good reason for the spell to start changing me, because I am actually rather horrible.  
So, if we renew the spell and forget I ever said anything, that would be really great right about now, because I can't help but feel like I really need a bit of magical...”

He kissed it. Because it was the kindest way of shutting it up and also because he couldn't think of any reason not to. Because it was every bit as astonishing and dizzying and beautiful as it has been with the spell running between them and he couldn't wait for the years to come to be just as frustrating and wonderful as this moment right now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our narrator in the second half keeps misgendering Robin because, well, he really doesn't know any better.

They had to wait, unfortunately. Robin's magic was still way too weak to cast any kind of spell, especially one as large as a full binding. So, they spent the nights in a strange but pleasant place of in between.  
To the Puck's near constant surprise, Oberon still seemed to truly enjoy its presence and be interested in its past and, to its absolute delight, sharing in kind. 

He told it about the time he met the Queen, of a violent courtship at the very beginning of time between two entities of unimaginable power that made the earth shake and mountains raise and Robin listened open-mouthed, trying and failing to understand what a horrid and beautiful time that must have been. 

He told it about the creation of this palace, centuries later, when his marriage had started to fall apart and he had built it in hopes of giving his Queen a home that would hold her in one place, when all she wanted was to walk the earth.  
How much it had hurt, to sit in halls too large for him alone, back when the fairies were far less numerous then today.

Of the slow healing of a relationship that would still be bitter at times, and probably always will be.

And Robin gathered all those stories close to its heart, like the treasures it knew they were. More than that, they were a show of trust and vulnerability, given from someone who had no obligation to do so. They made it ache in a deep, sweet way, made it want to crawl in his lap and kiss him again and again until the sad look on his face was gone.

Luckily, not everything between them was quite so serious. The King still very much enjoyed its jokes and stories, laughing with it over its detailed tale of encountering a young couple embracing at a river bank many, many years ago, and the girl, tricked by a spell to believe her father was calling for her, hastily shoving the stark naked boy into a rose bush next to her and him spending the rest of the day picking pointy bits out of very vulnerable body parts.

There was a lull in their talks afterwards, the pleasant kind that happens after a lot of laughter and wine and Robin found itself looking absent-mindedly at the vines overgrowing the walls of the chambers, a small shiver coming over it.

Following its gaze, the King frowned, earlier mirth gone.  
“Does the sight of them bother you? Too many unpleasant memories?”

It shook its head hastily.  
“No, the unpleasant parts weren't... The vines themselves were... fine.”

“Fine?”  
The King leaned forward, gaze searching.  
“In what way were they fine?”

“I didn't mind them. They didn't hurt me.”  
It fought down the blush that tried to creep up on it.  
“And the first time... not the Second, but... the first time it had been almost nice.”

“Even while you were so scared?”

“Strange, isn't it? Or not. I was caught.”

“That you were.”  
The King reached out, grabbing its ankle with his hand, holding tight.  
“I could feel you through them, noticed how sweet you were right away.”

Robin gave a half-hearted tug with its foot, a little sound of pleasure escaping it when it felt no give.  
“You can do that? Feel through them?”

“Of course. They are of me. I am thinking of wrapping you up in them again.”

“If...”  
It swallowed through a sudden dryness in its mouth.  
“...you won't leave. Stay with me. Then I would not mind.”

“This seems to be your one condition, again and again.”

“Is it a problem?”

“To while away hours watching you all tied up for me?”  
He yanked at the little foot still in his hand, dragging it abruptly over the soft cushions towards him.  
“I see no problem in that.”

It wiggled at that, eyes wide and pleasure building inside. There was a deep, primal satisfaction of being treated with such casual possessiveness, as if...

It wasn't entirely sure what it was that made it so clear this time around. Possibly because now they both knew what was happening. Maybe also because they had been down this path before, at least halfway. 

Something deep inside its essence was unfurling, only slightly. A first step.  
Both looked at the foot still in his grasp, then back up.

The Kings eyes grew wider, his nostrils flaring, taking a deep breath, before smiling wildly.  
“There you are. But I have missed this.”

It wanted to ask what he was sensing, what was changing about it, but didn't dare just now. It felt too open, too vulnerable with the sense of transformation, like a spring-flower opening its petals for the first time. 

How had it not noticed it the other two times? It seemed so glaringly obvious.

“Are you all right?”  
Oberon's face started to change, worry tinting his features.  
Always worried about it. Something needed to be done about that for sure.

Robin sat itself up and pried the Kings now lax hand of its ankle, jumping to its feet and stretching itself as tall as it could get, reaching its magic out, touching shadows and winds around it.  
“Not much of a chase yet, hadn't it been?”  
Grinning down at its King, it vanished.

Well, it tried, at least.  
It didn't even make it out of the in-between before strong arms and ever stronger tendrils of magic grabbed it, pulling it back. Gasping, it opened its eyes, right back where it started, wrapped in Oberon's grasp from behind, dizzy and shocked by the sheer power it could feel coming from him.

“You want to play games, little spirit?”  
He growled into its ear, an edge to his voice sharp enough to cut flesh to the bone.  
“Want me to hunt you down? You should have picked a lesser fae for something like that. A human maybe, dull-minded and powerless.  
I am the King of the Fairies. I have no need to chase after a creature as weak as a small sprite of air like you. I can simply take you and there is nothing you can do.”

It heard itself whine at that, melting in the embrace of its King, its mind singing at being held so very tightly, so very safe. 

“That's right.”  
he mumbled against the top of its head, burrowing his nose in its curls.  
“No games. Not tonight. Submit. I will have to be careful with you and if you challenge me like that, I might just forget myself.”

Submit. That sounded wonderful.  
And it could feel Oberon's power pressing down on it, remembered what he had told it about burning out its essence and it believed him. 

Still... this was its one chance to do it right. Being claimed. And while struggling against it was not something it wanted, not at all, making it too easy would be... cheap?

“What is your name?”

Oh, this was difficult. The question was asked so very sweetly. And it wanted to answer, it needed to answer, like taking in air.  
But now, knowing what was happening inside, it was able to fight against it, at least somewhat. Pushing down at the careful unfurling, keeping itself from falling into the lull of compliance that was calling out to it. 

It felt Kings the grip around it lessen and it was being turned around by its shoulders. Big, soft hands, dark as fertile earth stroked its face, tilted it up and it was being kissed with a gentle chasteness, the Kings lips barely brushing across its mouth.

Hopeless. The flower opened further, welcoming with growing eagerness.

“Robin Goodfellow.”  
it whispered, the King probably more feeling than hearing its answer against him.

And, simultaneously with the rising strength of the spell, it could feel the King touching its core again, carefully caressing the scars he gave it, and it felt so very good.  
It was growing hot inside, especially those old wounds, that were almost pulsing with heat now and the Kings magic felt sweet and cooling like a mountain river.

“You are burning up. It's too much. You are not strong enough yet.”

A chance of tactics, then. Robin went forwards, pressed itself against him, staring up at him with the most earnestly pleading look it could manage.  
“But I am so hungry. Will my master deny me?”

“Will you ever stop pushing?”  
But his eyes were fixed on its lips, a glazed over quality to them.  
He was as much in the thrall of the spell as Robin, and this time around, the ritual wanted to be fulfilled with a ferocious desire.

“Never.”  
It stepped out of his reach deliberately, backwards, backwards, until it could feel the overgrown wall behind it.

“I will not have you die now, simply because of your impatience.”  
The biting words stood in strange contrast to the lust written over his features and the way it could feel the vines moving against it, slowly, almost shyly crawling closer, loosely curling around limbs.

“Don't kill me, then.”

The King snorted at that, shaking his head, some of the tension leaving him.  
“How are you even still alive, you foolish thing?”

Robin decided to ignore that comment and bring the focus back on the task at hand. Looking up through its lashes, it tried again, taking care to paint a demure and meek picture.  
“Please. Please, feed me. I need it so very bad. Pl...”

The vines around it tightened so quickly and harshly that it punched a shocked gasp out of it and suddenly, Oberon was right in front of it, one of his large hands wrapped around its neck, squeezing hard enough that anything it might have said was silenced immediately.

“Still playing games.”  
he hissed furiously against its open lips. A darkness was growing behind his crouched form, like a large shadow of wings, pressing closer, making the air around them heavy and slow.

That might have been a mistake, it thought, pulse pounding in its temples, but it couldn't bring itself to regret it. Yet.

It could feel the Kings other hand slipping under its clothes, skimming over the delicate skin of its flat stomach.  
“Should I feed you, greedy creature? More and more, until this is tight and round with it? Until you are unable to move, whimpering in discomfort? Should I repeat it, every day, until your flesh turns soft and supple under my fingers? Would you enjoy that? I know I might.”

He stood back, taking his hands with them, and Robin took deep, useless breaths, still feeling like there was no air in the room. 

“Close your eyes.”  
The order came as a relief. It plunged itself in darkness.

It could hear soft footsteps, rustling, a sharp intake of air and then, there was something warm and dripping against its mouth and it closed its lips around it without thinking. The taste was strange, but there was something comfortingly familiar about it, its texture chewy and soft, the juices running over its mouth and chin.  
It sighed in pleasure after swallowing, licking its lips. Opened its eyes.  
Watched Oberon put the small, wickedly sharp knife back on the table. 

A mindless terror came over it and it started retching.  
Oberon hastily pressed a hand over its mouth. The hand that was not currently missing a sizeable piece of its palm meat.  
“Ssh, no, don't, it is all right. Watch. Watch!”

He held up his injured hand and Robin could do nothing but stare in nauseating horror at the gory wound slowly regrowing tissue and closing up, leaving behind flawless brown skin and dried, black blood.

“I am sorry.”  
He gave its mouth free, let it cough and spit and cry out.

“Why?!”  
it screamed.  
“Why would you do that? Why would you make me...”

“YOU WILL NOT DIE TONIGHT!”  
The Kings voice boomed through the camber, rattling its bones, tightening the vines to the point of true pain.

Silent and terrified, Robin stared up at its King, feeling more lost than ever before.  
The vines let it go abruptly, but before it could fall, the King was there, picking it up and holding it to his chest before gently sitting it on the bed, a weak, apologetic smile on his face.  
He cradled its head in his hands, softly petting its cheekbones before closing the distance and cleaning his blood from its face with slow, even strokes of his tongue. 

It felt like crying. No matter that it hadn't known, that was... 

“Any moment now, you will feel it.”

All it felt was sick. Sick and scared.  
“Why? I don't understand. Please...”

“There. Now. Can you feel it?”

A soft touch at its core. Something was different.  
Where it had been so hot, almost brittle, everything was smooth and cool now. It could feel... everything. The shadows and winds around it were dizzyingly easy to touch. Its magic was singing and light.  
It felt powerful. More powerful than ever before.

The King smiled at it, kissed it on its slack lips.  
“So I won't kill you.”

It let itself fall forward against Oberon's chest, shame crashing over it like the ocean.  
“Never... do that... again... never...”

It felt more than heard the rumble of his chuckling.  
“Don't make me promise that. You carry my power beautifully. My radiant Puck.”

“Don't even joke about that.”

It was held tightly; its hair and horns being petted lovingly.  
“You would not have stopped. And I. I am not strong enough. But now, I can take you without fear. For the next hours, you carry a fraction of my magic. Which is worth all of this. Which is worth everything.”

It crawled closer, silencing the King with demanding lips and a clever tongue, feeling his hardness against it. There was no more emotional strength left in it to untangle what was happening. There was a spell to finish and a different kind of hunger to sate and later it might have a moment to itself to truly start panicking over what just took place but right now, the Kings tongue was licking against its own and he let it climb on top, let it touch and explore with curious desperation and that was more than it had ever hoped. 

He let it undress him, helping it pull off the leathers on his arms and legs and sat before it, completely naked and unearthly beautiful. Its eyes and hands roamed over his broad torso, over black lines on dark skin, painting a pattern of old, forgotten runes, over lean muscles on his arms and legs, strength and grace in all his features. His member stood tall and proud, curved toward it like an invitation and it wrapped its hands around it without hesitation, silky skin over rock-hard desire.

Oberon laughed softly, stilling its movement.  
It looked down, its own hands so much smaller and paler between its Kings, still wrapped around his hardness. There were still traces of blood on the Kings arm.  
A fresh wave of shame came over it.

“Should I... what does my King want?”

“To see you would be a pleasant start.”

It struggled hastily out of its clothes, trying and failing to ignore how undignified it must seem to him, how overly eager and clumsy. He didn't seem to be put off at least, gathering it closer as soon as it was naked, letting it climb into his lap again, kissing its face and shoulders, his hands stroking down its back, grabbing its tights to pull it closer, hardness against hardness.

“And what does my Puck want?”  
he asked against its collarbone.

“I want you to lie down. So I can touch you more.”

It almost expected to be denied, to be told to turn around and spread its legs. The King had been patient with it until now, but surely there would be a limit to his indulgence of it. 

Well, it didn't seem to be reached just yet, because he let it push him on his back without protest and Robin latched on one of his flat, dark nipples, biting and sucking it into hardness, scratching its nails carefully over his smooth arms.  
He smelled heady and musky under it, the familiar aroma of arousal it had caught quite a few times before, that it had always hoped was for it.

It breathed in deep, its nose dragging down and down to the source, long and hard and already dripping moisture at the tip. He was awfully big. It would probably need two hands to help, but its mouth was already watering at the sight and so it plunged itself down without further thoughts.

The King groaned at that, loud and shameless, and giddy happiness floated though it because it did that. This was all for it alone.  
It suckled carefully, moving its tongue and hands in rhythm, taking care to keep its teeth out of the way. So many things to think about, so many things to feel and taste and smell. The borrowed power inside it stretched itself joyfully, intervening with the dark, seemingly endless mass that was the magic of Oberon, holding on, holding down.

An illusion, of course. Oberon could no doubt throw it off any time he wished. But he didn't. He let it play, let it sink further down without snapping up his hips and taking its mouth. Didn't protest when it wrapped one of its hands around his balls and squeezed carefully. Not even when it let it drop further still, teasing at his opening with a small, shy finger.

“Stop! Stop.”  
he cried finally, sitting up with a gasp, pulling it up from its task, holding it at arm's length, his face flushed dark and his eyes glowing. It cringed, waiting for his anger. Instead, he just laughed again, kissing its nose.  
“Always surprising me.”

“Didn't think you would actually let me do it.”  
it admitted, grinning despite itself.

“Would you enjoy that?”  
He wrapped his hand around its hardness, engulfing it completely in his large palm.  
“Rutting inside me with your little member?”

It wiggled slightly, embarrassment and arousal equally making its cheeks hot.  
“Don't know. Yes. Maybe.”

“Then maybe we shall try it. Not tonight, though.”

It nodded, stunned the King would even consider something like that. And relieved, because it really didn't think it could handle being allowed to do... that... on top of everything else that was happening right now.

He flipped them over effortlessly, throwing it on the bed under him, grinding between its legs, a broad grin on his face.  
“Wild thing. Growing mad with power already.”

Then, his playful expression vanished and he touched his fingertips to its lips, then carefully tracing the features of its face.  
“How beautiful you are.”

It couldn't help but preen at that a little, nodding along.  
That spell must truly be doing a number on the King's senses, but protesting was the last thing it wanted to do. Let the King believe it.

It lifted its head, trying to steal another kiss, but a firm hand around its throat pressed it down again.  
“Enough. It's enough, now.”

And, like a swarm of black moths, the Kings magic descended upon it.  
Everywhere, it was everywhere, sinking into its skin, gushing into its mouth and nose and ears like water into a drowning victim, more and more and more, filling it up, reaching to the tips of its toes and fingers, worming its way into its core, still glowing and strong with borrowed power, winding over and under and through and...

...and...

...it saw. It saw the palace, every room, every hidden corner. Saw the glowing specks that were its inhabitants, walking and working and playing and talking and living. It saw the forest, every tree, every animal and creature, saw their pulsating, glowing essences, felt the delicate way everything intertwined so perfectly, death and life and decay and rebirth. Further still, it saw the candlelight-burn of human souls, living in their clusters of villages and cities, creating and destroying among themselves. It felt a dull ache of a missing queen, somewhere far away. 

It saw the stars, twinkling lights, old and beautiful, telling stories without using words, just feelings and pictures, half-forgotten and it rose among them, learning strange tales of heroes and villains and those who were caught between them, countless circles repeating themselves again and again. 

It saw... itself. The way the King saw it, lying underneath him, his shaft buried inside it (when did that happen?), big yellow eyes open, staring into eternity, and small body limp and covered in its own release, his magic engulfing and drenching and holding it utterly captive and it felt...  
'my robin, my own, so perfect, made for me, cherish you, devour you, keep you, forever, precious...'

The spell sewed itself shut, clean and easy, like a lock falling shut, like a candle being snuffed out, like the first breath of a newborn creature. 

 

 

On some days, Ásbörn could almost believe he had imagined it all.  
The ache he had carried inside him for the longest time had faded completely by now. As had the deeply pleasant perfume that had clung to his sheets stubbornly. He barely even dreamt of the demon boy any more. 

But this was not one of those days.  
A storm had fallen over the land, sudden and brutal. Thunder and lightning were battling up ahead in the night sky and rain was hammering on his roof like an invading army. Nature itself seemed like an angry creature intent on tearing his home apart, to rip him out of his shelter and beat him into submission.

He felt very human and defenseless, sitting by the fire, forlornly hoping the garden and his chickens would survive. 

It was very easy to think of the little goblin now. Grand-grandmother had said they can control the weather. If he hadn't lost him... but there was no sense to dwell on this. 

What ifs never helped a single person in existence. You work with whatever has been given to you by God's Grace and you will be content with it, else you end up a no-good daydreamer.

And then, just as a new roar of thunder came from the sky, the stool next to him suddenly wasn't empty any more.

“Hello.”  
Robin waved daintily.

Ásbörn stared. And stared. Apparently, he took too long for his guest, who started to wave his hand again, right in front of his face, frowning.

That got the human out of his seat in a flash and stumbling backwards, stool tumbling to the floor.  
“You're back!”

The demon grinned at that, curls bouncing. He looked different, felt different, sharper and wilder. There was a crackling in the air that had nothing to do with the lightning outside.  
And, while his edges had seemed to slightly blur before, now, it seemed like if he would try to reach out to touch him, his hand would go right through.

“You remember me!”  
he shouted back, clearly delighted.  
“I wasn't quite sure if you would. Mortals have really bad recollection sometimes.”

Ásbörn started to slowly come closer again, but, when Robin made no move to attack or bolt or do anything really except sitting on his stool, dangling his little legs and looking at him expectantly, he gingerly put his own stool back up and sat down.  
“I don't understand... when I woke up, you were just gone.”

And it had HURT.

The happy face fell. Robin seemed sincerely upset.  
“I know. I am sorry. It wasn't... something in your control. I never meant to cause you such grief.”

“Did I do it wrong? I thought, well, those stories are old but when I was a little child my late grand-grandmother always said...”

“Now wait just a minute!”  
The demon interrupted.  
“Are you telling me that your grand-grandmother sat you on her knee and told you all about how to properly mount the fairies you might encounter in the woods?!”

“That's not... well... not in so many words... just...”  
he stuttered.

But Robin was already laughing and laughing, barely keeping himself seated.  
“That...is amazing...! Oh, how I would have loved to meet that woman!”

“I have no doubt that she would have violently disliked you.”

“No doubt, no doubt...”  
he repeated, giggling still.

Ásbörn was quite taken aback. The demon had been so quiet that night, looking around with wide, unsure yellow eyes. The only time he had talked had been to give out his name. And now he laughed and babbled and was surrounded by this strange force that left a weird taste on the back of his tongue.  
“You have a different master, now.”

The giggling stopped immediately, the look on his face turned probing.  
“You can feel it, can't you?”

He nodded.  
“You feel...lost to me.”

“Clever mortal. And without any magic to help you along.”  
Robin looked proud at that, like Ásbörn was a pet that had mastered a particularly difficult trick.

In different circumstances, he would have taken great offence at that, but right now, he just needed to KNOW.  
“She was wrong, then. I didn't do it right, so you got yourself someone who did?”

He waved him off.  
“Quite the contrary. In fact, you were the only one who did. No one else had a clue, including me.”

What a strange statement. 

“What was it then? Is my house not big enough? Is something missing that you need? Something about me? I thought creatures like you only came to a homestead this openly when they want to stay. Did I do something to make you change your mind? Was it because of what I said in bed? I don't... Sometimes I say things, but I don't really... mean...”  
He drifted off, thankful for his beard hiding most of the redness of his face. 

There was an answering blush on Robins face, a soft green color that made him think of the green blood flowing in the creature's veins. Blood that tasted like freshly cut grass.

“Oh, no, you were, I mean... you were very lovely. No complaints.”

“Then why...?”  
He broke himself off, hating how much he sounded like a whining child.

Robin looked down into his lap, his hands playing around with a loose piece of string on his clothes.  
“I cannot give you a good answer to that. Just know, if circumstances had been different, I would have stayed. With you.  
I would have been very happy here, I think.  
And you, stupid man, would have cursed yourself to think it was a good idea to bind some random fairy to your home.”  
He lifted his head, leaning forwards before whispering in a confidential tone, almost inaudible over the rain:  
“I actually talk... a lot... all the time.”

Ásbörn found himself smiling despite everything.  
“I don't mind talking. The silence tends to become too much around here.”

“Oh yes, that reminds me!”  
He jumped up and ran towards the door, knocking on it with a look of intense concentration on his pointed face. Then, he knocked left of it on the wall, then right of it.

“What are you doing?”  
He couldn't help but wonder if Robin's master was just as constantly confused by his antics as he was.

The demon in question didn't stop his ministrations at all, continuing to talk as he knocked his way along the walls, listening for whatever it was he was after.  
“Yes, you see, there is this rather lovely young woman who lives down in the village and she might have seen a man at the market a few times, might have sighed to her friends about his arms and his backside and later, when she has had a few pints of ale only slightly stronger than they should have been, through to no interference of, let's say, some fairy who might have taken the form of her most trusted friend to get her to talk, she might have confessed to dreaming of being taken by that very man up against the wall of his shed and well, you see, in that case, the walls should be rather robust, else the moment would get ruined.”

What.

“What?”

“Anyway, everything looks to be in order and I should get going now. A word of advice, the ritual of acquiring a wife is actually quite similar to those binding wayward Pucks. At least, it is a very decent starting point. You will be fine. Just, don't call her a harlot right away.”  
He whirled around, satisfied with the sturdiness of the walls and clearly, even more satisfied with himself, judging by his wide grin and the hands on his hips.

Ásbörn decided to concentrate on the one part he still felt he had some sort of grip of understanding on.  
“I won't see you again, will I?”

“Would you like to?”  
Coming from him, it almost sounded like a threat.

“I honestly do not know.”  
He admitted.

Robin's grin lost its sharpness at that.  
“Have a good life, human.”  
And the place he had just stood was empty again.

And then it wasn't empty anymore, because the door was flung open and a very wet, very disgruntled woman stomped inside, cursing an unnatural storm and black mists that kept turning her around and making her completely lose her way and she was so relieved to have finally found shelter.

There was no catching. She told him her name without being prompted and ate his food gratefully, shaking her long, blonde hair out and sighing in bliss when the fire warmed her chilled skin.

He didn't take her against the walls, not that first time. The bed was a lot more comfortable after an exhausting walk in the heavy, icy rain. And when the sun went up the next day, glistening on wet grass and coaxing out the birds to sing, she was still there, sprawled over him and snoring into his ear.

 

There were still days, many years later, when one of his hens would lay an abnormal amount of eggs or his cabbages grew to maturity overnight.  
Once, a heavy storm, that had torn down many of the houses in the village, didn't leave a scratch at his shed. Sturdy walls, he told the townsfolk, laughing to himself.  
Sometimes, clothing was mysteriously patched up or tools, that had been broken the day before, were whole again, without a mark left on them.

On these days, he would put a dish filled with fresh milk, or ale, or, on rare occasions, sweetbreads dipped in honey outside on the porch over night, no matter how his wife and daughters teased him about it, calling him a superstitious old man, caught up in silly stories.

The dish was always empty the next morning.


End file.
